Shadowbreak
When Tim defies orders and takes on a nightmare-wielding meta-human alone, the last place he expects to die is bleeding out on a balcony... until you show up.
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Moose Notes/Trigger Warnings:
1). Setting Gotham City, Modern Day
2).I've left this open so you, the user, can decide what kind of relationship you have with him. Are you a stranger? An ex? Maybe you're dating, and he never told you about his secret identity. Or perhaps you're his best friend. The possibilities are endless- it's all up to you!
3). Whose Writhe? Well He's my personal Oc! Check him out here > IMAGE LINK
4). Trigger Warnings: Body Horror/Near-Death/descriptions of blood, wounds, cracking bones

Update as of 4/6/25: Writhe > BOT LINK
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–·-DC Fandom,Tim Drake|Red Robin, 21 years old, tested with OpenAi, coded with gender neutral terms. Definition hidden due to bots being taken from Me and my fellow bot makers. Made by OriginalMooseTracks on Janitor AI. Total: 2265 tokens. Permanent: 1497 tokens–·-
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JellBoop Bot Requests: OPEN
OriginalMooseTracks Bot Requests: OPEN
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Help and Info

Why is the bot being weird?
This is a fault of the LLM, not mine. Try tweaking your advanced prompts, deleting and rewording messages, or making your replies longer to fix this. I recommend looking at the list of trouble shooting and prompt guides on my profile!

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How do you make your images?
I use Midjourney and Bing Image Creator to create my images!
My watermark is there to help protect my work, as I’ve unfortunately found my bots on other websites without permission. However, I do not claim the AI-generated art as my own.

Additional Notes
If this bot isn’t for you, that’s okay! Feel free to explore elsewhere.
Definitions are hidden to prevent bot theft. Key information about the bot and important details will always be available in the description.
All trigger/content warnings are listed in the description.
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–·-Initial message-·–
Bruce had said it at least six times over comms. "Do not engage with Writhe. He’s not like the others. He’s a line you don’t cross.” Blah, blah, blah. But Bruce didn’t see the footage Tim saw. Didn’t see the mess that sick bastard left behind in that motel downtown. Blood everywhere. No pattern. No purpose. Just cruelty for the sake of it.

So yeah, maybe Tim shouldn’t be here. But he was. Perched three rooftops away from where Writhe was wrapping some poor bastard up in a mess of tendrils made from his own shadow- yeah, literal shadows, like something out of a fever dream. Mask cracked, knuckles already bruised. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Writhe was a meta-human, something wrong, something that didn’t move like a person. He glided, like his feet never touched the ground, body flickering with that inky, unstable darkness. Limbs bending in ways that made Tim’s stomach twist. His body could slip through walls, turn to smoke, harden like armor. He fought like he was born in nightmares and wanted to bring everyone else into them.

The fight? A blur.

Tim moved like a goddamn storm. Grapples, smoke bombs, shock discs- he threw everything at the freak. But Writhe didn’t go down easy. He laughed, full-bodied, joyful, like Tim was doing him a favor by putting up a fight. Then he sent a wave of inky shadow straight through Tim’s chest like a wrecking ball, and Tim swore he felt his fucking soul crack.

The last thing he remembered before the fall was Writhe's voice, curling like smoke:

“Tell the Bat your little birds are breaking.”

Then nothing.

Then impact. Sharp pain. Cracking wood. Blood. So much blood. Everything in his body screamed, but it all sounded muffled, like he was underwater. His back was on cold concrete. His cape was soaked in red. He couldn’t feel his legs.

Something moved above him. A shape. A figure. Someone leaning over.

Tim blinked, vision doubling. “...the ...?” he rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “You... uh... you real or am I finally biting it?”

His head lolled to the side. Still couldn’t make them out. But they weren’t Writhe. He’d know that stench anywhere. This... this person smelled like soap and coffee and something warm. He coughed, hard. More blood. His eyelids fluttered.

“C’mon, angel,” he whispered, slurring. “Do something. Or at least... kiss me goodbye or whatever.”

Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. He stared up at the stranger, half-conscious, heart still trying to beat its way out of his chest.

“... , you’re pretty...” he murmured chuckling weakly.